


A Hero

by Ravelle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Forgiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:13:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9943775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravelle/pseuds/Ravelle
Summary: Varric finds himself unable to write a letter.





	

Varric has ever been a man of words, to find them lacking now when he needs them most is disconcerting. The quill hovers above the parchment absolutely fucking useless, much like he had been in the Fade when the solemn decree fell from the Dalish girl’s lips,

“Hawke.”

Disbelief had given way to enmity in mere seconds as his finger twitched slightly to caress Bianca’s hair trigger. Putting a bolt in the Inquisitor’s throat to silence this blasphemy was no true solution but it had been his first and only instinct at the time. Instead, he had left Hawke to the fate that was chosen for her. It had not occurred to him in the moment that taking her place, or staying behind was an option.

_Oh you sly old bastard_ , he thinks, _save those lies for your next book. You can call it Tale of the Irredeemable Coward_.

Hawke was the last of her line and so there is only one letter he must write, to Anders. A globule of ink falls from the tip of the quill to further mar parchment already made a ruin by many such splatters and a few sloppy cross outs.

~~Dear Anders,~~

~~Anders.~~

~~Blondie.~~

It is as far as he can get.

He stares down at the parchment willing the words to come. Those magical phrases and sleights of lyrical prose that could soften the blow, transform Hawkes death into something more than it was. This was not a glorious noble sacrifice; this stank of the blood of a lamb to the slaughter. It is another manner of sacrifice to be sure, but not one worthy of her.

The heavy thump of a bottle being set on his table yanks his eyes up from his latest failed draft and up to the Inquisitor. She sets a single tumbler down next to the bottle of MacKay’s.

“Mercy.” Varric greets her dully.

All those nug-humping sacks of paragon shit she had spared on her throne only to offer up Hawke to whatever the fuck that thing had been in the Fade. Well, the style he afforded her would still be ironically relevant at least.

“Varric, I… I’m sorry.” The Inquisitor stammers, shamefaced.

The dwarf looks up at her from his chair, considering her carefully.

The Herald of Andraste and he had believed it, even when she insisted otherwise:

_“I’m not holy Varric; you’ll find no chosen one here. I’m just like you. I don’t want a follower, just a friend.”_

If he still believes her to be the Herald then his best friend’s death is the Maker’s will by proxy. Could he truly have faith in a Maker who demanded Hawkes sacrifice on the altar of his holy indifference?

He eyes the single malt she has brought, and the lone tumbler.

“You just going to drink from the bottle then?” He asks, halfway curious.

She makes a valiant effort to maintain eye contact as she replies.

“Erm, no I thought after we talked you’d want to be alone, the Mackay’s will keep you company.”

Varric lets the bottle sit where she has left it and tugs off his gloves, at the ready for a drinking contest or a fistfight.

“Why Hawke?” He demands, his voice remains calm but there is no mistaking commanding note it carries.

He watches as her cheeks go ashen under his glare.  

_Who will answer?_ He wonders, _the girl, the Herald, the Maker?_

She stands a bit straighter, drawing herself up to her full diminutive height. Her jaw becomes a hard angle, replacing the smooth curve that was there a moment before.

“It looked like it was a choice, but it wasn’t. Only Hawke could have held the nightmare back long enough to cover our retreat and she willingly did so. Her skill was our salvation; I hope someday it will also be her salvation as well. Perhaps someday she will return; if not then she died like she lived, as a hero.”

For what it’s worth, and it probably isn’t much, Mercy doesn’t fidget or avert her steadfast gaze from his. She waits for his condemnation or forgiveness in silence.

Varric releases a heavy sigh, _a hero_ , he should have never written that fucking book, this was all his doing. He pours a glass of the single malt, gulps it down, refills it and slides it across the table to her.

“Pull up a chair Mercy, we’ve got a letter to write.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Reddit Prompts: 
> 
> Prompt 1: Write about your character from the perspective of someone they slighted/someone negatively impacted by a decision they made.
> 
> Prompt 3: Forgiving something that is unforgivable
> 
>  
> 
> I've never left Hawke in the Fade, I just can't do it.


End file.
